A Cat-astrophe of Epic Proportions
by TheGirlwiththeSilverPen
Summary: Dean hates cats. So naturally, Castiel gets one.


**Author Note:** Ohmygod so this is the first thing I've written in forever due to schoolwork/assignments/general unproductivity. It took a freaking age to edit but I'm pretty happy with how it turned out :) Basically Post-Season 10 bunker fluff (and CATS!) with a side-serving of angst. Enjoy xx

* * *

"What the _hell_ is that."

Cas looked up from his spot on the couch, a book held open in his right hand. His left hand was absently stroking the mottled grey ball of fur sitting in his lap. The mottled grey ball of fur that was _purring_. "It's a cat."

"I'm aware of that, Cas," Dean said – quite calmly, he might add, considering his blood pressure was spiking at an alarming rate. "I mean what is it doing in our living room?"

"He's a stray I came across while driving into town," Cas said fondly. He scratched behind the offending animal's ears. "I'm naming him Walnut."

This assertion was ridiculous enough to distract Dean from the larger issue at hand. He scowled. "Really? _Walnut?_"

"Yes. That's the name of the street where I found him." Castiel quirked up an eyebrow, as if this was obvious.

Dean didn't know what else he'd expected. _Of course_ Cas would stop to pick up a mangy stray while on a supply run, and _of course_ he'd want to name it something lame like freaking _Walnut_. He exhaled slowly, a relaxation technique he'd seen Sam use. "No," he said. "This is not happening. We are not getting a cat."

"Why not?" Cas' mouth was set into a thin line, shoulders tense. He was not going down without a fight.

_Deep breaths. Deep breaths._

"Because we're not _cat people_. And I'm not spending the next ten years cleaning hairs off the couch."

"I'd consider myself a 'cat person'," Castiel said, air quotes and all.

"Cas–"

"I think it's fine," Sam piped up, from where he was sitting in an armchair observing their entire exchange.

_Fuck it._

Dean levelled a glare at his brother. "Seriously? You're siding with him?"

Sam didn't so much as flinch. "Cas wants a cat, we should let him get a cat. It'll be good for us."

"How?!" Dean asked, incredulous. "Are we gonna bond over having to take out the kitty litter?"

"They're really not that much work. You won't even notice he's here half the time," Sam reasoned.

"They're filthy!" he burst out. "That thing's probably diseased."

"That's rude, Dean." Cas' eyes narrowed, and then he – Jesus Christ – he actually _moved his hands_ to cover the cat's ears.

"Cas and I are taking Walnut to get vaccinated tomorrow. It'll all be taken care of."

"We are not getting a cat," Dean repeated, clinging to the statement as if it were a life preserver in vast uncertain seas.

The look Cas shot him burned with enough absolute _fury_ to set a small village on fire. "What possible reason do you have for disliking cats?"

"I'm allergic."

"You aren't," Sam said wearily. "You just made that up when you were twelve to get out of going to Melissa Schilling's birthday party."

Dean glowered at the two of them. They had obviously planned this entire conversation in advance. Those assholes were _ambushing_ him. And that damned cat was still purring.

"Come on, man," Sam was saying. "You know we agreed that we could only make major decisions around here–"

"By unanimous vote." Dean nodded. At least the odds were in his favour. Eat your heart out, Katniss Everdeen. "And I'm sorry, guys, but the answer is no."

"Dean–"

"Let me ask you something, Cas," he interjected. "_Why._ Why do you want to keep that thing so bad anyway?"

"Because, I…" Cas looked taken aback. He glanced down at Walnut – no, at the _cat_. They were _not_ giving it a name – his face softening. "Because he needs us. He needs a home." He hesitated before saying the next part, taking in a shaky breath. "This is what humans do, isn't it? They keep pets?"

Any retort Dean had been about to make shrivelled up and died inside his throat. Cas looked small all of a sudden, almost disappearing inside Sam's old Stanford hoodie. Dean forgot sometimes that this was all so new to him. The familiar guilt slithered its way back into his chest, coiling and tightening and making him want to be sick. How could he have forgotten? It was his fault that Cas was human in the first place.

He cleared his throat, made a big show of sighing and rolling his eyes. "Fine. The furball can stay."

The genuine _smile_ that quirked up Cas' mouth at that statement almost made his decision worth it. Almost.

Sam was wearing a shit-eating grin.

"Good," he said, "because if Cas is allowed to have a cat, I'm getting a dog."

* * *

He'd screwed up. He'd screwed up big time.

Sam, conniving little shit that he was, had finally found a loophole around the 'no dogs period' rule Dean had enforced for years. This was exactly the reason he'd been so opposed to having a pet in the first place. If Cas got a cat, then who was he to say that Sam couldn't have a dog? Who was he to say that the two of them couldn't own a whole damn barn full of animals? Cas was even talking about buying a guinea pig. A _guinea pig_.

It was with a sort of resigned dread that Dean realised the situation was completely out of his control. Numerous books on pet care piled up in the library. Sam and Cas embarked on weekly visits to animal shelters in search of the perfect canine companion. And all Sam's talk about 'you won't even notice he's here' was utter bullshit, because tripping over bags of cat food became a regular occurrence. _Goddamnit._

The worst part of it all was that despite his inherent dislike of animals – and probably _because_ of it – the cat was obsessed with him. It was clingier than Glad Wrap, constantly rubbing up against Dean's legs and infringing on his personal space. Sam and Cas found the whole situation hilarious, obviously.

So it wasn't surprising when Dean opened his bedroom door one afternoon to find it sleeping on his pillow.

"Move," he growled. Like that was going to do anything.

He sighed and swung himself down onto the bed. The cat started, letting out a surprised squeak, but showed no signs of leaving. Dean didn't have the heart to kick him out.

He opened the newspaper he'd brought with him, scanning the day's headlines for anything out of the ordinary realm of Fucked Up Things People Do To Each Other. After a moment he felt the weight of the bed shift under padded paws, a whiskered nose nudging at his leg. Great. Now it had decided to curl up beside him. The damn thing was like a space heater pressed against his leg. Dean ignored the cat with determination. A minute passed, and then two. So maybe the warmth was kind of a nice change to the usual chill of the bunker, as much as he hated to admit it. He snuck a glance at the cat, who seemed perfectly content where he was, then reached out a tentative hand to pet him.

"I thought he'd be in here," Castiel said from the doorway.

Dean snatched his hand away. Not fast enough, judging by Cas' smug expression.

"Stupid thing wouldn't leave," he muttered, embarrassment hot across his cheeks.

"It would appear he's grown quite fond of you." Cas crossed into the room, shutting the door behind him and sitting at the edge of Dean's bed. The cat immediately left Dean's side in favour of Cas' lap. Traitor.

Dean shrugged, cleared his throat. "I guess he's not so bad, as cats go."

Cas smiled. There were shadows under his eyes and lines etched into his forehead, but he seemed happy. Happier than Dean had seen him in a long time. Since…_before_.

"Thank you," he murmured. "For letting him stay."

"Would you have listened if I'd vetoed it?"

"No," he said immediately, and Dean pressed his lips together to stifle a laugh. "Still…it was a nice gesture."

"Yeah, well. I'd be a dick if I said no after everything that's happened."

The abrupt silence that followed felt like a bucket of ice tipped over his head. Sudden and shocking. Cas' expression turned sombre. He sighed. "Dean–"

"It's the truth, Cas. All of this…" he gestured to Cas' undeniably human appearance, to his hand-me-down outfit and his five o'clock shadow, "…It's my fault."

He still sometimes felt the remnants of the Mark, like a phantom pain pulsing under his skin. But then the white-hot burn of it would be soothed by the grace running through his veins, cooling and cleansing all at once. It seemed bitterly unfair to Dean that he was in sole possession of the grace that Castiel had lost.

Cas was staring at him, emotions flitting across his face too quickly for Dean to decipher. "Is that really what you think?" he said finally, his tone measured.

"Jesus, Cas, of course it's what I think." He glanced away, hating the way his voice was shaking, hating that they even had to have this conversation at all. "You broke yourself to fix me and I…I'm sorry. I'm so damn _sorry_." He took in a shuddering breath. "If I could give it back–"

"I wouldn't let you," Cas said fiercely. He shifted closer – too close – pressing a hand to Dean's forearm, to the smooth, unmarred skin where the Mark had once been. "I knew what I was doing, Dean. I chose this. I'd choose it a thousand times over."

Dean didn't look at him. He couldn't bear to see the expression on Cas' face; compassionate and understanding when he deserved none of it. "How can you say that?" he choked out. "You lost _everything_."

Cas' touch was gentle but firm as he tipped Dean's chin up. Their eyes caught, blue melting into green like the blurred hues of a watercolour painting.

"I lost my grace," he corrected. "It hasn't been easy. Being human is…confusing, to say the least. But I don't regret my decision." He paused. "This life, with Walnut and Sam and…and you…It's what I want. It's all I've wanted for a long time."

Cas hadn't been alone in wanting. Dean knew that no amount of words he strung together could even come close to conveying how grateful he felt, how glad he was that Cas was here, with him. So instead he grabbed the front of his shirt, pulled him close, and kissed him. And kissed him, and kissed him.

Castiel didn't seem to mind at all, judging from the equal fervour with which he responded. His fingers tangled themselves in Dean's hair as Dean's hands slipped their way under his shirt, and it was perfect. It was better than perfect, because it was _real_. Cas ended up sprawled on top of him, and the cat – having had enough of being squashed between them – jumped off the bed with an indignant mewl. Not that they noticed. In fact, they were so caught up in each other that they didn't even hear the rapping of knuckles on Dean's door, the creaking of the hinges as it swung open. It was only when Sam coughed – loudly – that they sprung apart.

"Jeez, Sam, try knocking sometime," was all Dean could think to say.

"I did," Sam smirked.

There was a pause during which Dean became acutely aware that his hair was all mussed up and his face was turning a vivid shade of crimson. Beside him, Castiel seemed unperturbed, if not amused, by this turn of events. "Right," he stammered. "Well, uh. Right. Why are you here, again?"

At this Sam adopted the excited tone he usually reserved for talking about first edition hardcovers. "I think I found us the perfect dog. Her name's Maisie and she's a cat-friendly golden lab. I'm picking her up from the shelter later on."

"No dogs in the–"

"'_No dogs in the car_', I know." Sam rolled his eyes. "Cas and I can go in the Lincoln." He raised an eyebrow, shooting them a knowing look. "That is, if you guys aren't otherwise occupied."

"Get out," Dean said flatly.

Sam raised his hands in a placating gesture. "I'm going. I need to make a phone call, anyway."

He frowned. "To who?"

"Charlie," Sam said, a gleeful glint in his eye. "I'm telling her you guys finally hooked up. She owes me ten bucks."

Dean flipped him the bird, and Sam had the common sense to duck out of the room before he could start throwing things.

"Congratulations, by the way," he called over his shoulder, a smile in his voice.

Dean glared at the now-empty door frame before turning to Cas. He'd remained oddly silent throughout the conversation. "You okay?"

"They've been placing bets about our relationship," Cas stated, in the same matter-of-fact tone someone would use when discussing the weather, or taxes.

"Yeah." Dean shook his head. "Those freaking–" He cut himself off, something Cas had said catching in his mind and staying there. He let out a breath. "Is that, uh…Is that what this is? A relationship?"

"If that's what you want it to be." Castiel looked up at him from under his eyelashes, sounding almost shy.

Strangely enough, Dean did. He craved commitment, longed for normalcy and a life steeped in routine. He wanted lazy mornings and breakfast in bed and for Cas to be unequivocally _his_. It was unlike anything he'd felt before, a deep river in the ravine of his heart. But then again, this was different. _Cas_ was different.

"I do." And it sounded so official that Dean couldn't help a laugh.

Cas smiled, in on the joke for once. "Good."

"Hey," Dean looked away, only then noticing the absence of a cat in the room, "where'd Walnut go?"

He glanced back at Cas, finding himself the focus of an intense and thoroughly distracting blue gaze.

"You called him Walnut," Cas said, something like wonder laced through his words.

Dean blinked. "Well that's his name, isn't it?"

He didn't get much further than that, because by then he had an armful of ex-Angel and soft lips pressed against his own.

He'd have to thank the cat later.


End file.
